


Free Slot

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Femdom, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk jumps on the opportunity to be Uhura’s next toy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Free Slot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grrarg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grrarg/gifts).



> A/N: "Drabble" for grrarg's “Jim/Uhura, with Jim finding out that she's kinky and trying to convince her to let him sub for her” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

As the communications officer, Nyota knows well the power of words. When Spock first asked her if he could speak of their relationship with his best friend, there was that wriggling sense in her mind—she _knew_ —she should’ve said ‘no.’

But for whatever reason, she told her former boyfriend ‘yes,’ whatever he needed; emotional situations are difficult for him, and he should take support where he needs. A month later—sufficient time, apparently—they’re both fine, still friends, and she’s not particularly surprised when her shift ends and the last thing she sees through the turbolift doors is Kirk racing to her. He’s never quite made it to ‘captain’ in her head. However much respect he has of hers, he looses it when he scrambles through the closing doors, all charming smile. 

He stands next to her, gold and now posture-perfect, _sufficient time to ask_ thick in the air. He asked yesterday, and she laughed. 

While the turbolift whirs down towards her quarters, Kirk asks again through a grin and faux-formal tones, “I’d like to submit my application for reconsideration, Lieutenant.”

Keeping her own amusement in check, Nyota smoothly informs him, “Denied.”

He turns to her, all big blue eyes and handsome body and hopeful looks. “Aw, c’mon; I’m not asking for a whole relationship here, I just want one shot at sub—”

As the doors open before them, she drawls, “You’re awfully persistent for someone who wants to sub.”

He follows her out, of course. “So you can beat it out of me.” She glances sideways; he grins too wide. She can’t help but wonder if he thinks she’s kidding around, or perhaps Spock didn’t explain the depths of their bedroom arrangement. Spock was obedient when told. If she took a paddle to Kirk’s behind, he wouldn’t be able to sit in the big chair tomorrow.

They make their way down the corridor, and she sighs, “And what makes you think I’d want to beat my captain?”

He gives her a cute look sideways. They both know there would be no penalty, and pretty much everyone has wanted to punch Kirk in the face at least once, her especially. It’s adorably infuriating that he knows that. When she doesn’t respond, simply keeps her brisk pace, he confirms, “There would be absolutely no negative consequences on the bridge, I promise.” She reaches her door: locked: she punches in the code. He practically whines, “C’mon. I’d be into anything.”

Finger hesitating midair, she can’t help but repeat, “Anything.”

“ _Anything_.” When she looks at him, his pretty face is all sincerity. Nyota doesn’t at all deny that he does have a pretty face, a pretty body. Greater women than her have crumbled to the James T. Kirk allure, but Nyota never _crumbles_.

And the rush wouldn’t be something to scoff at: the power of punishing her _captain_. She wonders vaguely if Spock would mind, but then, jealousy isn’t logical. And Kirk wouldn’t ask if it were anything less than fine. Her eyes scan Kirk idly. He doesn’t pressure the unwilling; she knows if she stopped toying with him and just said ‘no,’ he’d never ask again.

She finishes typing in her code.

The doors swing open, and Nyota lunges for Kirk’s hair, grabbing a chunk of golden strands. He yelps in surprise and pain, but she just drags her captain into her quarters by the hair before anyone else can see. She doesn’t relinquish her hold when the doors slip shut behind them; she marches him off to her couch—a place she likes to sit while petting her slaves—and tosses him to the floor. He stumbles to his feet, just a hairsbreadth away from losing balance, and he looks up at her, shocked. 

She gives him an easy ‘I-thought-you-wanted-to-play’ look and orders with no intonation, “Strip, sit, and from here on out, don’t talk unless I expressly give you permission.” She puts her hands on her hips, meaning business.

In an instant, Kirk’s surprise slips into excitement. She already knows she’ll have trouble with him, but eagerness won’t be it. He mock salutes her, and she simply rolls her eyes. She turns and heads for her bedroom. 

This might be fun, after all. Though Kirk might be in for a surprise. Nyota wonders vaguely if he’s ever subbed for a woman like her before. Unlikely; there aren’t many like her.

Technically, there isn’t a real need to _get ready_. It’s a ploy to make him wait. She takes her time, stripping out of her uniform behind the wall and out of view, the smooth fabric slinking silkily from her dark skin. In just her bra and panties, she poses in the mirror: just more seconds for Kirk to squirm in. White underwear probably isn’t the thing for this. She unclasps her bra, lets her breasts breathe, poses again. She shimmies out of her panties, tossing them to the bin and heading for the drawers. Hm, what to wear. With Spock, she took it slow, at first. Eased into it. There’s no reason to treat Kirk with glass hands. 

She finally decides on a small corset dress, black and faux-leather, the cups barely enough to cover her nipples and the skirt barely enough to cover her crotch. But they do cover, and she doesn’t bother with panties. She hums to herself while she laces up the back, not too tight, just enough for a little extra pressure: something to enjoy. She watches herself in the mirror while she does it, curves growing fuller. It’s into high black boots, after, thick, blunt heels made for stepping. She keeps her hair in a ponytail; best to keep it out of the way in case she uses chains in her binding. 

Nyota doesn’t bother much with makeup—doesn’t need it—but trails to the bathroom and peers into the mirror anyway. She hasn’t had anyone since Spock, but she’s certainly had... _aggressions_.

She turns. Thin waist, full ass, perky breasts, nicely wrapped. Her hair cascades over the crisscrossed lace and covers the neat bow. She smiles to herself: perfect. She’d fuck her.

She leaves her toys in her drawers and only takes the paddle. She knows damn well she’ll need it. 

She sighs as soon as she’s back in the living room. He’s sprawled out on her couch, completely naked, gorgeous in every centimeter. She doesn’t react to it, hides her appreciation, her pleasure, her immediate approval. Probably one of the best specimens on the ship—the only way not to downgrade after Spock. But his jaw drops when he looks at her, and she places her free hand on her waist, hips jutting to the side. 

She informs him slickly: “You better pick a safeword, because you’re about to get fifty whacks for presuming to sit on the couch; pets don’t get to use the furniture.”

Kirk turns a pretty shade of pink: this is going to be _very_ good, after all.


End file.
